Puzzles and Games
by WrittenByMeow
Summary: Sequel to "Vines of Ivy and Barbed Wire". Will and Ivy have returned from the Not-Place and are trying to adjust to life in the real Hawkins. That's hard to do when their minds can't seem to let go. It's hard when the nightmares and the visions feel so real. Then again, who's to say what's real anymore?


Promises were such fragile things. They were as easily broken as they were made.

They could worry and argue as they pleased. Ivy knew what she had to do. She would have to hurry though. Her plan would only work if no one stopped her first.

Ivy crept out of the house. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one noticed her absence and then ducked around the corner. She hurried through the shadows until she came to her destination. She peered about one last time. Satisfied that she was alone, she slid the bolt open. She stepped inside and closed the door.

It was him and yet it wasn't. Someone else stared out at her from a face that she loved. It was almost enough to shake her.

Swallowing hard, she approached the chair. Slowly she knelt on the floor. "Take me."

A moment passed as her proposition was considered. "You would sacrifice yourself for this boy?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I can't go home if he's not there," she said as if it were the most basic knowledge of the universe.

Promises were fragile. There was one, however, that Ivy refused to break.

Teeth bared in a chilling grin, it said, "We accept your terms."

* * *

**Six Months Prior**

Dogs did not like Ivy. That was fine. Generally, she didn't care too much for them either. She didn't like the way they smelled. She hated how jumpy and unpredictable and boisterous they were. What she despised most though was the licking. The sensation of the wet tongue sliding against her and leaving behind that trail of warm, foul-smelling goop made her want to tear her own skin off. Any dog that tried licking her was a beast better left alone.

She couldn't help make a face as she watched Will allow a golden retriever slobber all over his face. Just watching it made her feel sick. It was mind-boggling how happy it made Will.

"I think she likes me," he declared through a string of giggles.

Most of the time, Ivy could understand Will – mostly. This wasn't one of those times. She frowned at the over all unpleasant creature. "How unfortunate," she replied.

"Now, now, dear," Mrs. O'Malley reprimanded in that feeble way of hers. "Some people prefer dogs. I know your father would."

"You said I could get a cat," she objected, fingers twitching in several aborted movements. She didn't like being around all these barking dogs. She longed for something to do with her hands.

"We are getting a cat," Mrs. O'Malley assured her, hand hovering around her daughter's elbow.

Ivy wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, staring into an empty kennel. "Can we go now?"

Will gently pushed the dog back into its own kennel. He gave the latch a fond pat and then beamed at Ivy. "The room where they keep the cats is down that way," he informed her.

"Go now, Mother?" She reiterated, frowning still.

"That's fine," Mrs. O'Malley demurred.

Will held out his hand, an open and expectant smile on his face. It widened when she jerkily took his hand within her own. He led her down the hall to a closed door. A sign was posted below the glass window. It warned volunteers to not let any of the cats escape. Ignoring it for the most part, he opened the door for Ivy and waved her in.

Ivy stepped through and peered blankly into the cages. Some cats meowed at the sight of the people. One hissed. Most of them acted as if humans weren't worth the energy it took to acknowledge. That was fine with Ivy.

Will made a beeline for a group of kittens. They mewled for his attention. He was more the happy to oblige, sticking his finger through the gaps in the cage to let them sniff or gnaw or bat at as they pleased. Mrs. O'Malley stood behind him, cooing about how adorable they were. He readily echoed the sentiment.

Ivy, however, took her time. She meandered around the small room. Every cage was peered into for a few moments before she moved on. Her expression didn't change no matter what she saw. She did linger longer at a few but there was no indication as to why.

Finally, as she came to the spot where she began, her mother decided to approach her. "See anything you like, Ivy dear?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Really?" Will piped up. He scrambled to his feet to join the conversation. "Who's the winner?"

She walked over to one of the cages. "This one."

A boxy face turned in Ivy's direction. It had only one eye and a severely disgruntled expression. The cat stood, stretched, turned, and laid down, giving them all its back. The broken tail twitched once before wrapping snugly around the cat's bulk.

Both Mrs. O'Malley's and Will's faces dropped. It definitely wasn't the cute, cuddly kitten they had been expecting.

She tugged at a strand of her purple hair as she waited for their reactions. Their expressions were too difficult for her to read. Was that just surprise or was there something else? Did that mean it was a bad thing?

"That's a… big boy," Will said at last.

"Yes," she agreed. To her, that detail was definitely part of the appeal.

Mrs. O'Malley wrung her frail wrists. "Are you sure about this one, dear?"

"Yes," she repeated in the same monotone, lacking any sort of inflection.

"If you're sure," Mrs. O'Malley murmured.

Deciding that their reaction hadn't been too unfavorable, Ivy opened the cage. A distinctly displeased growl came from the cat that caused a spike in the rate Mrs. O'Malley wrung her wrist. Ivy just held her hand out, gaze averted, waiting passively.

The cat twisted around to sniff in her direction. When she made no move whatsoever, it stood once more. Its head bobbed as it sniffed the hand she offered. It glared at her for a long moment before it finally laid down, the one eye it had closing. Ivy reached in and slid her hands underneath the cat's armpits. It tried to back away from her but she heaved him onto her chest. The cat shifted irritably before finally settling into the cradle of her arms.

She walked past her mother straight to the reception desk. She plopped the creature onto the counter. "I want this cat."

The receptionist, an elderly man with a knobby nose, looked mildly alarmed. He scooted his chair along the desk to put some distance between him and the cat. "Are you sure?"

Ivy nodded once.

"Well, if you say so…" The man said, appearing unconvinced. He rifled through a draw and pulled out a stack of papers stapled together. "You'll have to sign these first."

"I'll handle those," Mrs. O'Malley offered, accepting the packet and the pen he nudged onto the counter. She began scribbling away.

Ivy held her finger out for the cat's inspection. She held still as it sniffed the appendage and, once it turned its head away, she used said finger to stroke the strong cheekbone. She completely tuned out the man's chattering as he explained the forms to Mrs. O'Malley. She and Will observed the cat with varying levels of admiration.

Will was of the opinion that it didn't look much like a "pet", mostly because the idea of petting it made him want to search for a pair of oven mitts. Ivy liked it though. She chose to brave the backseat with the cat. When the cat started yowling and clawing at the upholstery, Will was glad that he had taken the passenger seat. He noticed that Mrs. O'Malley had the steering wheel in a death grip. Neither one of them said anything as Ivy cooed and chirped at the distressed creature.

Ivy stayed put after they dropped Will off. She kept the cat contained to the backseat, although it never fully calmed down. She was anxious to get it home. She hoped it would like her bedroom, and the laundry room where she set up the little box, and the sunny spot in the den that she had imagined she would like if she were a cat. However, when she brought it inside, the cat hid under the couch. Nothing that Mrs. O'Malley did would coax it out. Eventually, Ivy convinced her to leave it alone. It would come out when it was ready.

Sure enough, it did. Slowly it ventured out into the new territory. Everything that the humans considered mundane was subject for inspection. His favorite rooms were the bathroom and Ivy's bedroom and her parents' closet. Ivy took to following it at times, watching how it reacted to whatever was discovered.

"He loves towels," she told Will one afternoon while she was at his house. "And shoes. Especially Mother's high heels. He cuddles with them. It drives Mother crazy."

"I bet!" Miss Joyce chimed in.

"Does he go after your string?" Will inquired, barely even paying attention to his food.

"All the time," she said gravely.

Will giggled.

"So does the cat have a name?" Jonathan asked, immediately taking a long sip from his water glass to avoid his mother's knowing gaze.

Ivy stared at the far wall as she considered this seemingly innocuous question. Finding a name that fit was proving much harder than she had anticipated. "Yes… and no."

"What do you think it would be?" Will asked.

"Father called him Princess yesterday," she said. "I think it would suit him. He is rather regal."

Jonathan and Joyce shared a bemused glance. Will didn't catch it. He nodded in agreement with Ivy as if this made absolute sense and said, "It's the hair. Majestic."

"So regal – much majesty," she whispered, eyes closed as if in prayer.

Will broke down into another fit of giggles.

"You must come over and draw His Majesty, the Regal Princess," she informed Will.

His doe-like blue eyes widened. "Really?"

"His Majesty must have the best," she said simply, "and he shall have his portrait hung upon my wall."

Will turned to his mother. "Mom, can I go over to Ivy's house?"

She grimaced apologetically as she brushed the bangs off of his forehead. "Not tonight, buddy. Sorry."

"Oh. Okay. What about tomorrow? I could go tomorrow, right?"

Joyce laughed. "It's not my house! I'm not the one you need to ask."

"Ivy, do you think you could ask your mom tonight?" Will pleaded.

As she hadn't been paying attention, she had to have him rephrase the question. Will didn't mind. "Yes, I will ask," she promised.

"I can take you tomorrow, before I go to work," Jonathan offered.

Will threw both of his fist in the air. "Yes!"

As Will celebrated, Jonathan leaned over to whisper to Ivy, "If that's okay with you."

She pushed the bits of chicken around on her plate. "That's okay with me," she murmured.

"Okay," he said, giving a small half smile.

They were clearing the table when a timid knock came at the door. Joyce hurried to answer it. "Hi, Virginia," she said breathlessly. "We were just finishing up."

She ducked her head and smiled demurely. "Oh, I don't mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense! Come on in," she insisted. She twisted to call down the hall, "Ivy! Your mother is here."

"I hope the afternoon went well," Virginia probed as she crossed the threshold.

Joyce nodded, smiling with her eyes. "Yeah, she's a real angel. We love having her. Oh! By the way – Will wants to come over to your guys' place tomorrow?" The end of her statement tapered off into a question and she winced in anticipation of Virginia's answer.

"Of course," she said without hesitation.

A tired grin split her face. "Great! Jonathan said he would drive him."

"Jonathan is welcome, too," Virginia reminded her.

Ivy appeared behind Joyce. "Hello, Mother," she droned.

Virginia hurried forwards. She kept her hands curled to her chest as she peered into her daughter's face. Everything looked fine, but sometimes Ivy could be difficult for her to read. "Hello, Ivy dear. Did you have a pleasant time with your friends?"

Ivy nodded once.

A hint of the tension she always carried receded. "Good. Are you ready to go, dear?"

Ivy made a beeline for the living room. She grabbed her backpack and threaded her arms through the straps. She nodded, more to herself than to her mother who had followed her, and said, "Ready."

There was a short procession of goodbyes and then they got into the O'Malley family car. Ivy placed her backpack between her feet and dug around until she found her latest project. At the moment it was a bundle of multicolored threads. She pulled in onto her lap and began the painstaking process of sorting it out.

A soft smile curved Mrs. O'Malley's lips. She was content to periodically watch her daughter out of the corner of her eye for a few minutes. Ivy looked almost happy when she was working.

"Your hair is growing out," she declared out of the blue.

"Yes," Ivy agreed, remaining focused on her project.  
"I can dye it again, if you like," she suggested, readjusting her grip on the wheel as she did so.

Ivy was silent for a long moment. Her mother was considering how to rephrase when Ivy simply nodded.

She heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. That would be lovely, dear."

The first time that Ivy dyed her hair, she hadn't asked for permission. She had merely approached her mother one evening, box of blue hair dye in hand, and asked for help. When she had been little her mother had loved to do her hair. It was one of the few activities that she had welcomed her mother's touch. As she had gotten older, Ivy had craved more autonomy and had started doing her hair on her own. Dying her hair, however, wasn't the same as a French braid.

Mrs. O'Malley had been so thrilled about Ivy actually asking for her help, she hadn't stopped to think about repercussions. Mr. O'Malley certainly had a few words to say on the matter when he saw his daughter's radical change the next morning. After she had explained herself, her husband came to agree that it was the right choice. Ivy had had looked happier over breakfast – or at least, less lost. Also, Mr. O'Malley understood that his wife had a much harder time finding things to bond over with their daughter. Ivy had little interest in what Mrs. O'Malley could teach her. How could he deny her such a thing as simple as this? And, honestly, who would it hurt? It made Ivy happy, and it made Mrs. O'Malley happy, and that made Mr. O'Malley content to allow it happen.

Mrs. O'Malley started up a conversation about what color Ivy had in mind. She carried most of said conversation, but she could tell from the thoughtful noises that she made that her daughter was equally invested. That night she made sure to jot down pink hair dye on her grocery list.

* * *

It was your average Saturday evening at the O'Malley residence. The house was filled with the scent of the apple pie cooling in the kitchen. Big band music hummed from the old gramophone. Mr. O'Malley always claimed that it helped him digest better. Ivy didn't believe the legitimacy of such a claim, but the music did help mask the scrape of silverware of plates. She was in no hurry to complain.

Ivy was eating dinner with her parents. She had opted out of the lamb chops that her mother had cooked. They were her father's favorite but she despised the everlasting, rubbery chewiness of most meat. Her plate was filled with plenty of buttered bread and an extra serving of vegetables. Idly she nibbled at the green beans.

"Ivy dear," Mrs. O'Malley prompted.

Her head jerked up. "Mother? What?"

"I was just asking, dear, if Will finished his picture yet," Mrs. O'Malley replied gently.

"He says he'll show me at the clinic next week," Ivy informed them.

Mr. and Mrs. O'Malley both made noises of interest. "He's a fine artist," Mr. O'Malley declared.

"His Majesty deserves nothing less," Ivy agreed.

Mrs. O'Malley fiddled with her napkin. "Are we really calling the boy cat 'Princess'?" She asked with a heavy sigh.

"It's the name Ivy picked," Mr. O'Malley reminded her. "And I can't imagine a better name for him. Maybe Diva. He certainly likes the shoes enough." He laughed at his own joke.

"My poor Prada," Mrs. O'Malley sighed.

"Perhaps a companion would help balance his ego a bit," Mr. O'Malley mused aloud.

Mrs. O'Malley looked alarmed at such an idea.

"I must admit," Mr. O'Malley continued, sprinkling a generous amount of pepper on his squash, "I don't mind having the beast underfoot nearly as much as I thought I would. Having two around wouldn't be so bad."

When Mrs. O'Malley saw Ivy nodding along, she was quick to clear her throat and ask, "Ivy dear, we haven't seen Nancy in such a long time. Is everything alright between you two?"

"Nancy is busy, Mother," she replied, only half-lying. At this time of year, Nancy was busy. That wasn't why she hadn't been coming over as much anymore.

"Oh, yes. Finals are coming up. I can't believe you graduate in six weeks!" Mrs. O'Malley gushed, practically quivering with excitement.

"My little girl is going to be a junior," Mr. O'Malley agreed. "We are so very proud of you, sweetheart. We know that things have been difficult for you this year."

To label the events of what happened as "difficult" was putting it mildly. On top of getting trapped in a parallel universe, she had lost the only two friends she had since grade school. What had felt like months in the Not Place (or Upside Down, according to Will and his friends) had only been a few days. She had thought that surviving – making sure that Will survived more than anything else since Ivy didn't think she could have lasted without him – she thought that would be the hardest part. Reality had been much, much harder. She hadn't considered that everyone just expected her to acclimate to "Normal" as if nothing had happened. To them, nothing had.

"I know!" Mrs. O'Malley said, wiggling in her seat. "Why don't we invite Nancy to go dress shopping this weekend? You'll need a nice new dress for graduation."

Mr. O'Malley nodded. "That's a swell notion there. How about it, Ivy?"

Ivy shrugged. "I don't know… I'd rather wear something I already have," she told them quietly.

"Oh, that won't do!" Mrs. O'Malley cried, an anxious little frown popping up.

"Let the girl wear what she wants, Virginia," Mr. O'Malley urged. "She won't sit still if you put her in some frilly getup."

"I wouldn't put her in frills. That's unbecoming on a young lady such as our daughter," Mrs. O'Malley objected.

Mr. O'Malley indulged his wife in discussing the hypothetical dress Ivy might have worn to graduation if Mrs. O'Malley had her way. Ivy tuned them out. She would wear her formal dress; a simple sleeveless dark gray dress and black flats. There was no point in pretending she would do otherwise. Besides, her father had been right. The dress her mother was describing would have driven her crazy.

Later that evening, her parents big her goodnight as they retired to their room. Ivy decided to do the same. Princess slunk into the room a few minutes after. Although he would rather slumber in her laundry hamper than next to her, he liked to accompany her to bed. Ivy did nothing to discourage this.

She changed into white t shirt that was several sizes too big and a pair of sweatpants and pulled the elastic from her hair. A sigh of relief slipped past her lips once she finally crawled into bed.

Princess hopped onto the bed. He padded over to Ivy and hopped up onto her stomach. All of his considerable weight balanced on those four small points was very uncomfortable. Ivy let him sniff her hand and he finally lay down. He was so big that when he spread out on top of her, his front paws rested on her collarbone and the back ones went past her hip. His belly was very warm against hers.

Deliberately, Ivy stroked the tips of her fingers over his crown and down his neck. He allowed the touch so she repeated the motion several times. "Handsome kitty," she murmured, "my Majesty. Regal boy."

Eventually, his eyes fell shut as a low purr rumbled in his throat. The vibration reverberated through her. It was as soothing as his soft fur. Ivy felt her own eyes grow heavy. She fell asleep before she realized what was happening.

Sometimes Ivy dreamed of a blank space. It went on and on forever. All Ivy had to do was float. She liked those dreams. She slept so well on nights that she had those kind of dreams that the next morning she had a hard time getting out of bed.

This wasn't one of those dreams. Ivy dreamed that she was back in the Not Place. She hated those dreams. She hated running and knowing that, no matter how fast she moved, it wouldn't be enough. She hated the feeling of being hunted. She hated the bone-deep reality of it closing in on her.

She would wake up gasping, sweaty sheets twisted around her. The images would fade rapidly, leaving Ivy the unshakable, heart-pounding terror without a face to put it to. It was next to impossible to fall asleep after that. She would toss and turn for hours until it was finally time to face the day. If the dreams were especially bad – the ones where Ivy couldn't get away fast enough – she would sit under the shower spray to collect herself.

Three or four of these dreams a week drained her. She would be sluggish and grumpy and when people would ask what was wrong she couldn't even tell them. She couldn't tell anyone that was still having the dreams. This was doubly true since she had told her doctor that the dreams had stopped weeks ago. According to him, it wasn't a "good sign" if she continued having these nightmares. He wanted her to progress. Or at least, he wanted her to show progress, so that he could assure her parents that she would be fine, so that they could tell the principal at Hawkins High that she was fine, so that he could tell the teachers that she was fine even though she wasn't. That was fine, too. It was fine, fine, fine.

Everything was fine. They had to be or people would try to fix her. At this point though, Ivy didn't know if she wanted them to. Some nights, after she dreamed of the Not Place, she would start to wonder about things. It wasn't a good line of thought. It led to dark and painful places. Some nights she wished she had just laid down next to Barb on that street and let the monster take her, too. Of all the things that Ivy hated, she probably hated herself the most, for being too much of a coward to do so.

* * *

Mrs. O'Malley pulled up next to the Wheeler house and let the engine idle. "Go inside the house and have a good time, Ivy dear. I love you."

"I love you, Mother. Goodbye," she replied in her usual monotonous way.

The car continued to idle as Ivy walked briskly up to the door. She pushed the hood off her head as she got up onto the doorstep and knocked. Water puddled underneath her as she waited. The car continued to idle. They waited and waited, but nobody answered. Ivy pulled the sleeves of her rain slicker over her hands and knocked louder.

"God! I'm coming!" The door opened to reveal Mike Wheeler. "Hi, Ivy," he sighed.

"Hi, Mike."

"Oh, geez, you must be cold! I didn't realize it was raining," he apologized as he stepped aside.

Ivy merely nodded.

He squinted at her. "You can come in, you know."

"I didn't," she said, and continued to stand there.

The bitch face he gave her was truly withering. However, she remained unfazed. With a theatrical sigh, he threw the door open wider and walked away. Over his shoulder he called, "Come in whenever you're ready," he called.

She shuffled inside. She peeled off the bright yellow rain slicker and hung it up on the coat rack. Her Wellingtons squelched as she walked further in the house. She made it all the way to the living room before she realized she was still wearing them. Sighing, she trudged back, stuck them underneath her rain slicker, and went back to the living room. She was too anxious to sit. Will had made it very clear that she was supposed to be invited into the basement. She didn't think what Mike had said at the door counted. Was she supposed to knock? What if there was a secret knock? Will hadn't mentioned anything like that. She decided that it was probably best to stay where she was until one of the boys came to get her.

Ivy reviewed her notes while she waited. A frown appeared as she recited her character statistics under her breath. Will had spent several weeks teaching her the rules and helping her create her character. Expressing how much that meant to her was hard. And it really, really did mean something to her. She figured the best way to show that was to learn the material by heart.

"What are you doing?"

Ivy swallowed at the sound of her ex-best friend's voice. She flicked her fingernail over the spiral of the notebook, hoping that focusing on the metallic twang instead of looking up would help suppress the sudden bout of anxiety she was experiencing.

A pair of dark brown penny loafers appeared in front of her. "What are you doing, Ivy?"

"…Hi, Nancy," she said reluctantly. "I'm – I'm waiting."

"What are you doing here?" She reiterated, holding back an eye roll.

Ivy hugged the notebook close to her chest. "I'm here to play Dungeons and Dragons. Will has been teaching me."  
"Is that why you've been too busy to return my calls?" Nancy demanded.

Ivy shrugged. The truth was that she had been avoiding talking to Nancy. She had been avoiding Nancy, period.

Nancy's penny loafers shifter as she sighed. "Maybe it's a good thing you're here. Look – why don't you sit down?" She sat down on the couch and motioned for Ivy to do the same.

This was not what Ivy had planned on for that afternoon. She had been avoiding Nancy for weeks. School would be out in less than a month and then she wouldn't have to work so hard at it. That particular strategy didn't help her any in that moment. She perched on the very edge of the cushion, knees squeezed together as she tried to suppress the rocking motion her body wanted.

"There's something I have to tell you," Nancy said.

"Okay," she said passively.

"Barb – I don't know what happened in the Upside Down. I don't know if you ever found her or what. We never really talked about what happened…"

"Yes."

"Do you want to?"

She frowned in confusion. "Want to what?"

"We should talk about the Upside Down," Nancy said.

"Why would you want to do that?" Ivy asked.

"Because Barb is dead!"

Ivy blinked rapidly. Her shoulders hunched up and her expression went blank.

Nancy took a shuddering breath, as if she were trying to suck back the words. She brushed a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear and wrung her wrists. "Ivy, listen. Barb isn't coming back," she said haltingly, "because she's dead."

Desperately, Ivy wished she would stop saying that. She swallowed against the feeling that tried to engulf her, as it did every time she even thought about Barbara Holland. She thought she might drown in the guilt.

She looked up from her notebook to see that Nancy was staring at her. Quickly she looked back down and mumbled, "Yes, I know." She began to tug on the metal spiral of her notebook.

She scowled at Ivy. "How can you sit there and be so cold?"

"I'm not cold," she objected.

"You are! It's like you don't even care," she accused. "I thought Barb was your friend."

"You know that she was."

Nancy stared at her expectantly. When Ivy said nothing, her brown eyes hardened into a glare. "That's it? You've got nothing to say?" She demanded.

Ivy brought her green eyes, wide with panic, up to Nancy's face. "What am I supposed to say, Nancy?"

She crossed her arms and shook her head. There was an angry flush to her face. "You're not even human," she spat.

"No, actually, I'm a fairy," Ivy said, tugging harder. "Will is teaching me how to play Dungeons and Dragons."

"Yes. I know," she ground out. "You already told me that. We were talking about Barb!"

"You're the one not staying on topic," she said in a rush, eyes wide as they darted from the notebook that she was disfiguring to the doorway and back again.

Nancy stomped and screeched, "Ivy!"

"I'm going downstairs now," she muttered. She lunged off the couch and practically sprinted out of the room.

"No – where are you going?" Nancy yelled after her.

"Downstairs," she muttered. "Downstairs, downstairs, downstairs, downstairs, downst- ow."

The thudding pressure in her head receded. She blinked up at the rafters. Had she taken a bad step on the stairs?

Lucas bent over her, brows pinched in concern. He held out his arm to help her up. "You okay, Ivy?"

"I am downstairs now," she informed him, accepting his assistance. She brushed at the back of her jean overalls and tried to gather her bearings. "I am Ivywings. You are Sir Lucas. I have heard many things about you."

He snorted and handed her the notebook she had dropped. "The game hasn't started yet. We're over here."

"Strong are your illusions," she declared, peering up at the ceiling. "Is this the work of Will the Wise?"

"Indeed it is!" Dustin boomed from the opposite side of the basement. "And who might ye be, o fair lady?"

"Your eyes doth deceive, youth, for I am less fair than I am fae," she said, gaze still turned upwards.

Dustin leaned over to where Will and Mike were discussing strategy. "Man, she's really good."

"Ivy likes old books," Will explained. He stood halfway up from his seat and waved his arm in a vain attempt to catch her attention. She didn't look but that didn't bother him. "Ivywings! Join us."

Hearing her name, she turned towards the table. She tucked a lock of purple hair behind her ear. "Many thanks, wizard."

Soon the rest of the party joined as well. Mike stood up and held his arms aloft. "Welcome, all, to another campaign! We have a new member among us. We welcome her to our party."

The boys cheered. Ivy finally felt like she could take a full breath.

* * *

Nancy was furiously attempting to study. Finals were right around the corner and she couldn't focus. English was her latest attempt and it was plain frustrating. Grammar was frustrating. Prepositions and parables were frustrating. Usually, Nancy loved to write. She wanted to be a journalist. Scoop of the day: Language is Hard.

The random, high pitched noises coming from the basement weren't helping at all. Sure, she could have moved. She had been studying in her room earlier. But she needed to keep an eye on her little brother and his troublesome friends. And she had a frozen pizza in the oven – she didn't want it to burn. That would do nothing except add to her frustration.

Try as hard as she might, she couldn't help but swell on the argument that had happened earlier. The worst part was how genuinely lost Ivy looked. It was like she didn't understand human emotions or common decency.

Nancy had always resented how close Barb and Ivy had been. Those two were able to communicate. They just got each other, in a way that often left Nancy feeling like a third wheel. It got worse once they got to high school. The harder Nancy tried to fit in, the more Barb disparaged the general teenage populace. Ivy already couldn't stand anybody so she understood. Ivy withdrew more into herself and Barb was happy to stay in the wallpaper with her. Now Barb was gone. She could no longer act as a translator between the two girls. Barb had been Ivy's translator – period. Ivy had relied on her to navigate every day life. Who would hold her hand now? Nancy felt the weight of the responsibility and – honestly – she resented it.

Someone knocked on the door. Nancy sighed in relief and tossed her work aside. It wasn't like she had been getting much done anyways. Whatever distraction was at the door she was happy for it. Part of her hoped it was Steve. She wished he would be more spontaneous. Steve was sweet. She liked that. He was also adorable and definitely charming, but he wasn't exactly romantic.

She ran her fingers through her hair, doing her best to straighten it without the aid of a mirror. She gave one final tug on her skirt before she plastered on a smile and opened the door.

It was Jonathan Byers, not Steve. Her smile dimmed.

She hadn't seen much of Jonathan lately. They saw each other in passing, of course. The last time they had exchanged more than a few words was just after Christmas. The camera was supposed to have been an olive branch. She wasn't sure if it had worked. He was more cordial than before, but he never went out of his way to do so.

"Jonathan," she blurted, "hi."

The smile he gave was small but genuine. "Hey, Nancy."

He shut the door behind him as he followed her inside. She offered him something to which he agreed. When she returned from the kitchen, he was standing in the same spot she had left him. Like every other time that he had stepped foot into her house, everything about his posture screamed discomfort. He obviously hated being in her house. She had never been brave enough to ask why.

It was with palpable relief that he reached for the glass of water. His fingers brushed against hers. Suddenly, she realized that he had nice hands. They were broad with neatly trimmed nails. He had nice arms, too. She remembered how had he had held her after their misadventure into the woods. She had accidentally stepped into the Upside Down and then they were both chased by that monster-demon-thing her brother called a Demogorgon. They had lost Ivy that night. Naturally, Nancy had been a little distraught. Jonathan had been kind and steady and when Nancy clung to him he had let her.

"Thanks," he sighed, and took a gulp. He wiped his sleeve across his upper lip. When he did so, a bit of dark blue and gray peeked out.

Nancy's gaze locked in on the anomaly. "What's that?"

He shook his wrist so the bracelet settled better. "Ivy made it. I think she said they were called friend arrows or something?"

"Friendship arrows," she corrected automatically.

"Yeah… She's always making them for Will. He probably has dozens of them. I, um, asked her if she'd make one." He tugged his sleeve down to cover the item. "For me, I mean."

"Right," Nancy said. "She used to make them for me." The words "and Barb" tacked themselves to the end of her sentence without her consent. They went unspoken but they were there all the same.

Once upon a time, way back in elementary school, Barb had taught Nancy and Ivy how to make them. Ivy had taken to it like a duck to water. The entirety of her forearms had been covered in handmade bracelets much like the one Jonathan wore for most of middle school.

Ivy had made Nancy more than a few. The only one Nancy held onto was back from when they had first learned how. It was much too small for her now. Barb hadn't lost hers. She was a much better friend than Nancy felt that she was.

"Is she here?" Jonathan asked.

Nancy shook her head to clear them of long past memories. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Is Ivy here, too? Will mentioned about a thousand times that she was going to play their game today," he elaborated.

"Oh, yeah. She's probably down in the basement."

He nodded and set the water glass down on the coffee table – thankfully on a coaster. Carefully he squeezed past her. He opened the basement door and yelled down, "Will, I'm here."

There was shushing and banging as if they were all hiding.

"Guys! Are you down there?"

It was quiet for about two beats before a disembodied voice replied, "No!"

"Shut up, Dustin!" A dull, meaty thud sounded later, as if someone had been slugged.

Jonathan closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. "Will, we have to go."

"But, Jonathan, we're not done yet!" Will protested.

"Sorry, buddy. We're late as it is."

A series of groans came from below.

"You can have the leftover pizza for dinner instead of whatever Mom cooked," he tried to bribe him.

More groans came, joined by jeers and boos.

Jonathan decided to change tactics. "Ivy, I can take you home."

Silence this time.

"It's already almost dark," he called again.

Steps thundered on the stairs. Will appeared first, followed closely by Ivy.

She looked at Jonathan, wide eyed but otherwise expressionless. Her cheeks were flushed from the sprint. Slightly breathless, she declared, "It's a school night."

"Yes," he agreed. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and waited for her to continue.

"Mother will be most displeased if I am late."

The corner of his mouth ticked upwards. "Mrs. O'Malley might not mind if you're a little late," he considered aloud.

"Perish the thought," she replied, drifting past him into the kitchen.

Her gaze slid right over Nancy. They both believed that she would ignore Nancy presence entirely until her voice drifted back, dripping with sardonic indifference. "Don't let your brother see that hickey."

Nancy's hand flew to her chest. Belatedly, she realized that her blouse buttoned up to the throat. There was no way that Ivy had seen the truly spectacular bruise she was sporting underneath.

He chuckled and shook his head. His eyes followed her as far as he could.

Nancy's brows furrowed. "I didn't realize that you two were," she hesitated, faltering for what exactly she was trying to say. Gathering her courage, she plunged ahead, and asked, "How long have you been friends? You two seem close."

Earlier traces of humor vanished. He scratched the side of his mouth. "I mean, sort of. Neither one of us really do 'close'."

This made more sense that what Nancy had assumed. She remembered how distant Ivy could be. There was no way she could ever imagine the other girl in anything resembling a romantic relationship.

The truth was, Ivy hadn't been talking to her at all.

"Come on, Jonathan!" Will beckoned, halfway down the front walk. "Let's go!"

He raised his voice to reply, "Alright! I'm coming!" He glanced at Nancy and cleared his throat, gaze darting away. "I guess I'll see you in class."

"Yeah," she with an uneasy laugh.

His shoulders hunched as he pushed past her once more. The door closed a moment later.

"Hey, Nance!" Mike bellowed from the basement. "Where's our food?"

Nancy reared up to snap something back when she got a whiff of smoke. She let out a curse and rushed to the kitchen.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It: The Pizza is Burned – Because Why Wouldn't It Be?

* * *

Virginia O'Malley loved her daughter. The relationship they shared was not the one she had imagined they would one day have, this is true. She'd been young when she had Ivy. Barely out of her teens, she would look down at her protruding belly and imagine the life that she was carrying. Naturally, she had imagined that she would have a similar relationship with her daughter as she had with her own mother. She imagined shopping and talk of boys and teaching her how to apply makeup. Reality was much different. Ivy cared for none of these things. She hated shopping. She hadn't so much as looked at boy as far as Virginia was aware. Why would she? She didn't like hugs or kisses – not even from her own parents. In the strictest sense of the word, she wasn't normal. But she was hers and Virginia loved her fiercely.

Ever since Ivy's disappearance, and her subsequent return, she had been different. Ivy had always been different, yes. However, she had changed in the time she had been gone. Nearly five months had passed since their daughter had been returned to them. Honestly, still Virginia wasn't sure if it was for the better or not.

She could be more withdrawn, which neither of her parents had thought possible. These bouts left her and her husband feeling useless. They couldn't reach Ivy when she was like that. What Virginia had called 'daydreaming' before had taken a much more somber tone.

The nightmares were awful; well and truly awful. They had started before she disappeared but it had gotten worse since she came home. Then, all of a sudden, they stopped. Virginia didn't entirely believe that. Sometimes, she would get up in the middle of the night and she would pass by Ivy's room. Sometimes she heard her talking, frantic and unintelligible. Sometimes Ivy was crying. Several nights a month, she would find Ivy sitting in the shower, most of the time still in the clothes she had worn to bed. Virginia didn't know which was worse.

A recent development was the company Ivy kept. Ivy started spending more time at the Byers' house and less time with Nancy Wheeler. Neither of her parents knew how to feel about that. They certainly liked Joyce. She and Virginia had become close friends over the past few months. Both of her boys, Jonathan and Will, were respectful, but they were boys, one of which was only twelve years old. Being around them made Ivy happy though. Sometimes, Will was the only person who could pull Ivy out of her bouts of aversion. They kept quiet about such issues.

The colors were certainly a change. It was one that they had fully embraced. They had helped her paint her room twice since the New Year. Then of course, there was the hair.

Virginia hummed happily as she prepared. A chair was pulled from the dining table to the kitchen. It was placed in the middle of the tool. The bottles and the dye were laid out on a towel. A set of plastic gloves sat beside those. Extra towels were well within reach.

"Ivy dear," she called, poking her head around the corner. She spotted Ivy reading in the armchair. That one eyed beast of hers perched on the headrest. She did her best to ignore it and called her daughter's name again. "I'm ready to begin when you are, dear."

Ivy nodded. She set her book aside and followed her to the kitchen. She quietly took a seat on the chair Virginia had set out for her.

Humming, Virginia opened the kitchen window, letting in the warm spring air. Summer was right around the corner. Virginia draped the cloth over her and tied it around her neck. It had taken quite a few tries before they had been able to find one that Ivy could withstand for longer than five minutes. Still, she fidgeted.

Methodically, Virginia brushed her daughter's hair out. It was longer now, almost to the middle of her back, and a faded lavender. It reminded her of a doll's. The ends were frayed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to trim it?" She asked.

Ivy made a noise of disapproval.

"Are you sure?" She pressed.

"Not yet," she murmured.

Virginia sighed but let it go. She raked her fingers through Ivy's hair, savoring the sensation. It was such a privilege that she didn't want to risk spoiling it with arguing. Besides, she had the whole summer to convince her.


End file.
